


Go The Fuck To Sleep

by littlebluecaboose



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: M/M, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-22
Updated: 2016-04-22
Packaged: 2018-06-03 18:02:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6620746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlebluecaboose/pseuds/littlebluecaboose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Washington has nightmares that he can't shake. Tucker is a well-meaning dumbass who thinks most problems can be solved with flirting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Go The Fuck To Sleep

**Author's Note:**

> This is a fic I'd forgotten I wrote until about two minutes ago, originally posted to tumblr. Enjoy!

The first time Tucker kisses Wash, Wash is crying. Not because of the kiss, despite what Caboose thinks. Wash had, again, had a nightmare, and well, nobody could sleep while Wash was yelling like that. He’d gone into Wash’s room, had tried to calm him down, but Wash was hysterical, breath stuttering between sobs. Tucker is trying to keep him calm- he knows what a panic attack looks like, hell, he’s seen Wash have panic attacks.

But his usual tactics, rubbing Wash’s back, gently playing with his hair, talking to him gently in the voice he used to use when Junior was upset- they aren’t working. Tucker can’t even understand half of what Wash is saying through the sobs that keep wracking his body. What he can make out sounds like a mix of desperate pleas for forgiveness and anger aimed mainly at the ex-Freelancer himself. Tucker is drawing a blank, but it makes him scared, makes him feel sick, to see someone that strong, that capable, suddenly so weak and beat down.

And well, Lavernius Tucker is a lot of things, but he’s always been a lover first and foremost. So really, no one should have been even a little bit surprised when his last-ditch attempt to calm Wash down was to kiss him. It’s gentler than Tucker normally would be, but even with that, he feels a sudden burst of regret, wondering if he just made everything a million times worse.

But when he pulls away, apologies ready on his tongue, Wash just stares at him desperately for a fraction of a second before leaning forward to press his face into Tucker’s shoulder. Wash is still crying, but he’s less hysterical than he was earlier. His arms are around Tucker’s neck, and he’s murmuring quietly against his warm, dark skin.

Tucker clears his throat, and quietly asks, “So. That, uh, that was okay, then?” Wash shifts, and Tucker can feel, rather than see, his nod. Tucker takes a few moments to think.

Wash is a hardass, yeah, but he’s actually a pretty decent guy, and he clearly does care about his team, not to mention the fact that he’s damn hot. Tucker decides that it would probably be good for Wash to keep him grounded right now, too. He runs a hand down Wash’s side while shifting the rest of his body back, using his other hand to gently grasp Wash’s chin. Tucker uses his grasp to tilt Wash’s head back for a moment, staring into those beautiful blue-grey eyes for a moment before he leans in and kisses Wash again. This time, Wash kisses back, and damn, Tucker does not ever want to stop kissing Wash. Like, ever. He’s pretty sure that right now, his biology is rewiring to make kissing hot, mentally scarred, blond freelancers a necessity for life.

Wash is still shaking a little, but he’s got one hand fisted tight in Tucker’s hair, the other clutching at Tucker’s bare chest. Tucker still sleeps naked most nights, but he’s got pair of sweats right by his bed for times like this when he needs to get to Wash quickly. It’s more often than not that he’s woken up by Wash crying out in the middle of the night, and, well, Caboose’s idea of cheering people up mostly involves crayon drawings. Tucker’s no psychologist, but he’s pretty sure that silly drawings aren’t the prescribed cure for PTSD or whatever the hell Wash has.

Right now, what Wash has is a warm, solid body pressed against his, forcing him to stay in the present. They’re both reluctant to part for air, and even when they do, it seems like there just isn’t enough of it in the whole world. It’s probably not helping that Tucker is halfway trying to shove Wash’s shirt off, that whenever they part, Tucker manages to catch his breath quicker and uses that time to latch onto Wash’s neck, leaving marks that stand out darkly against the former freelancer’s neck.

Neither of them has said much since they started, and while Tucker would have been fine, once, with just winging it, a certain woman in yellow armor had made it clear to him how important communication is. Tucker guesses it’s gonna be especially important with Wash- Wash is fragile, and Tucker doesn’t want to accidentally make everything worse. So he nuzzles briefly against Wash’s ear, breathing deep for a moment before he leans back fully, looking Wash right in the eyes. Wash smiles weakly, face still red from crying, but it’s progress at least.

“Hi,” Tucker starts awkwardly. He gets a vaguely incredulous, but somehow indulgent look in return.

Tucker takes a deep breath, and tries again. “Look, dude, I know you don’t do feelings because it’d, I dunno, ruin the whole ‘mysterious and angsty’ thing you got going on, but I need to know how you’re doing. I mean, with this thing, whatever it is. I’m not asking you to spill the beans on all the dark shit you’ve got going on in that head of yours, but I gotta know how far you’re comfortable with.”

Wash still looks a little confused. “I- you really want to- with me- really?” Tucker looks at him blankly, glances at the skin he can see- only Wash’s face and arms, really, both pale, utterly covered with freckles, and angular in a way that can only be described as beautiful.

“Wash, have you ever actually looked at yourself? Because, damn, dude, you are fine. So, uh, long answer short, hell yeah. Assuming you’re down for it, of course.”

Wash chews his lower lip slightly before he responds. “Okay. Yeah. You- You’ll have to help me out, I’m not exactly- knowledgeable.” Tucker takes a moment to tell himself that the butterflies in his stomach are just because it’s been a while since he got any, and not because he’s developing a huge fucking crush on Wash, absolutely not, no sir, that would be ridiculous.

“Cool,” he says finally, pressing a quick kiss to Wash’s cheek. Wash leans into the touch.

“So, um, how are we doing this? I mean- are you gonna-”

Tucker chuckles. “Well, I’m probably gonna have to ride, considering…” Wash leans back, confusion clear on his face.

"Considering what?” Tucker’s eyes go wide, for a moment, before he shakes his head.

“Damn, dude, I forget you never shower with us.” Wash looks considerably more perplexed.

“Tucker, what on earth are you-” Tucker interrupts Wash but shoving his own sweatpants off.

“Oh. That, uh, that sure is a thing.”

Tucker looks down at himself, where there is a distinct lack of a cock, before replying, “Yup. So, probably not gonna be fucking you up the butt. I mean, there’s ways to do that, but I haven’t really had the opportunity to acquire any of the means for it.” Wash reaches one hand up, presses it to the horizontal scar just under Tucker’s nipple.

“I wondered if that’s what this was about, but half of your scars are symmetrical, so I assumed it was just some sort of alien thing.”

Tucker gently pushes Wash backwards onto the bed, clambering more on top of him.

“Nah, just a Tucker-doesn’t-want-boobs-anymore thing.” He grins cheekily. Wash lifts his hands to rest them on Tucker’s waist, but pauses, not sure if it’s okay. Tucker picks up on his hesitation, and lifts one of his own hands from the bed, pulling one of Wash’s onto his skin.

“You are allowed to touch me, y’know. Promise I don’t bite.” Wash raises an eyebrow, tilts his neck to draw more attention the marks on his neck.

“That hard,” Tucker amends. “Unless you’re into that, of course.” He leans forward to kiss Wash again, humming softly when Wash grips his hips, gently at first, fingers tightening after a second.

Tucker pulls away, grinning.

“Now you’re getting the hang of it.” He sits back, pressing down on Wash’s half-hard cock, getting a gasp from the older man. “You wanna lose the clothes? I mean, if you wanna have, like, mormon sex, we can always do that, but it works a lot better if everyone is naked.” Wash’s hands tighten further on Tucker’s hips before he nods, pulling them away to wriggle his way out of his shirt. As he does, Tucker manages to extract Wash from his pants, tossing them carelessly onto the floor with his own sweats.

Tucker whistles appreciatively as he stares at Wash’s cock, running his palm along his length. He doesn’t try to hide the fact that he’s staring at Wash, at all this beautiful, toned skin. Wash is always clothed, doesn’t even hang out shirtless like everyone else does. Tucker isn’t sure why- Wash is stunning, pale skin utterly covered in freckles, muscular in a lean way, like a swimmer, maybe. Wash has his hands over his own chest, fingers twitching nervously, like he’s trying to cover himself. Tucker leans forward again, gently grabbing Wash’s hands and kissing him again, softly this time. He pulls away, just a few inches, murmuring,

“Dude, you are fucking gorgeous. What’re you hiding all this for?”

Wash looks away, shrugs.

“All the scars make me look old. Especially with, well,” He gestures at the grey in his hair. Tucker raises his eyebrows, before leaning to the side to press a quick kiss to Wash’s temple, running one hand over the grey-streaked blond strands. He shifts back, sliding down Wash’s body a little so his face his level with Wash’s chest. He scans Wash’s chest, cataloging his scars, before he leans down.

“Tucker, what are you-” Wash cuts off when he feels Tucker’s tongue on the long scar over his shoulder, tracing it gently, teeth nipping gently at the skin on either side. The older man whines softly, hips shifting on the bed, bumping up against Tucker briefly.

Tucker grins against Wash’s skin, shifting to press his lips against the next scar, grinding down against the older man as he does. He gradually works his way down Wash’s chest, lips almost brushing against Wash’s now-aching cock before he leans back up to kiss Wash. The effort Wash is putting into staying still and quiet is impressive. He keeps jerking a little, rubbing up against Tucker, and biting hard on his lower lip, eyes squeezed shut. Tucker kisses and bites all along Wash’s jawline before pressing his lips to the older man’s, feeling Wash whine as he does.

“Caboose sleeps like a rock, y’know. You aren’t gonna wake him up. C’mon, make some noise for me, baby.” Wash moans softly, wrapping both arms around Tucker’s back to pull him in for another kiss. Tucker is the one to break the kiss, pulling back far enough that Wash can’t just keep kissing him; as much as Tucker would love to just do that, he’d also like to actually get on with things.

“Hey. Can I, uh, borrow one of your hands for a second?” Wash looks briefly perplexed, but pulls one hand from Tucker’s back, holding it vaguely between them, staring at it like it’s a pencil he’s going to hand off. Tucker grabs his wrist, keeping a hold of Wash’s hand as he sits up. “Thanks.”

Wash stares at him a moment before asking, “What are you planning on doing with that?” Tucker winks, takes one of Wash’s fingers and presses it to his clit.

“Showing you the ropes. I figure you’ll be a fast learner.” Tucker tries to keep his voice steady, but he wasn’t wrong about Wash being quick on the draw. He’s already rubbing two fingers against Tucker, experimenting, using the way Tucker’s hips twitch as a guide. Tucker swears, back arching, and he has to press one hand into the mattress to hold himself upright. “I need- Here, just-” He grabs Wash’s hand, slides it lower until Wash gets the picture, presses one finger into Tucker’s slick heat.

Wash gradually works in two more fingers, thrusting up into Tucker until the younger man is whining, Wash groaning softly himself as Tucker runs fingers gently along his length.

“Fuck, Wash, do you have- do you have any lube, or oil, or- something, Jesus, I need-” Wash manages to lean away from Tucker long enough to grab a small tube out of the dresser by his bed.

Once Wash is slick enough, hips still twitching slightly, Tucker adjusts himself, pressing one hand into the mattress by Wash’s shoulder, gently gripping Wash’s cock with the other. Wash is so hard Tucker’s surprised he isn’t shaking, and Tucker is so wet he might lose his mind if he doesn’t get Wash in him soon. “You ready?” he asks gently, pressing the head of Wash’s cock very faintly against himself. Wash whines, hips almost bucking up, but stopping just short of any real movement. Tucker nods, takes a deep breath, and sinks down.

The pressure of Wash inside him is better than anything Tucker has felt in a long time, the jerky little movements of Wash’s hips unintentionally teasing. Tucker is not a patient man, and he rides Wash hard and fast, neither of them lasting very long. Wash comes first, crying out almost like he’s in pain. Tucker follows soon after, hips jerking roughly, a low whine escaping his throat.

He collapses forward, pressing his chest into Wash’s, feeling his breath and heartbeat begin to even out. They fall asleep like that, waking in the morning to an awful lot of awkward silences and hurried attempts at cleaning themselves off. The next night, though, Tucker clambers into Wash’s bed like he belongs there, curling up against him like a cat. Wash doesn’t complain.

He’s always liked cats, anyway.

**Author's Note:**

> Hit me up on tumblr @ littlebluecaboose! <3


End file.
